


Common Cold

by steveelotaku



Category: Batman: The Animated Series, The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:02:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26124670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steveelotaku/pseuds/steveelotaku
Summary: Inspired by Paul Dini's scrapped Batman/Sandman episode of BTAS (with my own spin.)
Kudos: 16





	Common Cold

I remember the rain that night. It was pouring down, pouring like uncaring, unceasing tears down over the rooftops of Gotham. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. I was sitting at home. Wayne Manor.

Wayne Manor is a lonely place. Its shadows are long, its halls are empty but all too full, and the only sign of warmth in the building is the fire Alfred tends to religiously on these cold and empty nights.

Lightning flashed, casting dark silhouettes on the wall. I coughed. There was a wetness in my lungs, like a persistent cold. I’ve never liked sickness. I can’t really think of anyone who does. In my case, though, I can never afford to be sick.

Ironically, it’s about the only thing I can’t afford.

“Might I suggest some herbal tea, Master Bruce?” Alfred offered. “There’s nothing quite like the honey lemon blend I have for taming a cold.”

“A cup or two might be nice,” I replied. “Thanks, Alfred. You can just leave a full kettle nearby.”

“I’ll return shortly,” he said, walking off into the kitchen.

I listened to the rain driving down on the rooftop. I heard chittering noises from the roof above—the bats, no doubt, disturbed in flight. The sound of the harsh droplets hitting the roof takes me back, back to a small theatre on the edge of town, old flyers rustling in the dirt near the gutters. I hear footsteps. A scream. Gunshots. Pearls, dropping seemingly endlessly on the pavement, dropping like the unceasing torrent from above.

I could be eight years old. I could be 88. At any age, those sounds will always be as loud as thunder.

The buzzer rang at the door.

“Now, who on earth could that be?” Alfred said, walking in with a cart of tea. “We’re not expecting company, certainly not on such a rough night.”

“Check the camera,” I advised. “Last time I got uninvited guests it was the Joker inviting himself to my last party. After everyone had already left.”

Alfred did so, and his eyes went wide.

“There’s a young woman on the steps. She looks frightened and soaked. I have no idea how she got here, though. The gates to the mansion are tightly locked, and the cliff’s unscalable.”

“Let her in,” I said. “See to it she’s warm. I’ll see about getting her home in the morning.”

Alfred nodded and went off to open the door.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sight of her. Long black hair. Skin almost as pale as the Joker’s. Running eyeliner. A silver ankh hanging around her neck and an outfit as dark as the midnight outside. Her arms were bare; she was nearly blue from the cold.

“Thank you, sir…” she said, pitiably.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Dee,” she answered, calmly. “I wasn’t sure where I was. I got a bit lost in the woods.”

“You look like you’ve been out all night,” I said. “You’re not from Gotham, are you?”

“I get around,” Dee managed. “I was visiting Gotham tonight…it didn’t go so well. Saw a lot of scary people. Clowns. I think clowns are normally peachy keen, but…these ones didn’t make me laugh.”

“Joker,” I growled. “Did he chase you here?”

“Tried to. Some guy dressed like a bat scared him off.”

“You met the Batman? You’re pretty lucky,” I said, trying to not smile too much. “People say he’s scary.”

“I kinda like him,” Dee said, smiling faintly. “He seems like someone really caring. I think he tries to not let it on, though.”

“Gotham sure could use somebody like that.”

“Actually, that’s why I came here,” Dee said, sheepishly. “When I ran out of the woods, I saw Wayne Manor, and I knew it’d be the one place I’d be safe. I remember hearing on the news all the good work you do…”

“I’m flattered. I’m just glad you’re out of the rain, though. Gotham storms are worse than most places. All that red sky, cold winds, petty criminals…nights like these bring out the worst.”

Alfred returned with a towel and a warm blanket.

“Thank you,” Dee said, drying off and curling up by the fire under the blanket.

“Do you like tea?” I asked. “Alfred just brewed a pot of honey lemon.”

“That sounds like a good idea, Mr. Wayne. Thank you.”

“Please, call me Bruce. There’s no need for formality.”

Dee smiled at me, and I brought over a fresh cup for her.

She sat in silence by the fire, the towel slipping down a bit and finally giving me a good look at her features. There was a distant sadness in them, beneath the friendly, reassuring face.

“I’ve heard people ask why anyone stays in Gotham,” Dee said, after a while. “I know some can’t afford to leave, but…”

“Why do I stay, right?” I asked. “Dee, I stay because I can’t afford to leave either. Money’s no object, but…”

I gestured up at the portrait above the fireplace.

“That’s why I can’t leave.”

“Your parents?” Dee asked.

“A long time ago, my parents were shot by a mugger in Crime Alley. They’d spent every waking moment of their lives giving to Gotham, and it took their lives. But they always believed—always—that Gotham was worth dying for. And I suppose, deep down, I’ve always believed that too. Every week, I swear, a former criminal walks off the street and into Wayne Enterprises with a resume, or a card, and says ‘Batman told me you were hiring.’”

“You’re a kinder man than the media lets on.”

“Not surprising,” I said, laughing. “The media says a lot of ugly things.”

“But surely a man like you wants to get away? See the world?”

“I see enough on business,” I admitted, not wanting to admit to the half-lie it was. “I know what you’re thinking, though.”

“Why Gotham? Why a city that takes so much from people?”

“Gotham is my home, and I serve my home,” I said, finishing the last of my tea. “Did you ever read Alfred Lord Tennyson’s poetry?”

“A long time ago,” Dee replied.

“’The Charge of the Light Brigade’ comes to mind. ‘Theirs not to reason why. Theirs but to do and die.’ Here, let me find it for you.”

I walked to my bookshelf and pulled a volume marked “Tennyson” from the shelf.

As I opened it, my face fell.

The text was gibberish.

And that’s when I got angry.

“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”

“What makes you say that?” Dee asked.

I stepped into the shadows for a moment, and when I re-emerged, I saw a look of dawning horror on Dee’s face.

Bruce Wayne was gone.

The Batman had replaced him.

“Don’t play coy with me, Dee. Who put you up to this? Mad Hatter? Joker? Scarecrow? I want a name!”

“What’s going on?” she asked, panicked.

“I know from past experience I can’t read in my dreams. The text is always gibberish. Mad Hatter thought he could get away with it. I’m guessing he tried it again. Who’s backing you? What did you do to me?”

“Nothing!” Dee said, before an ominous shadow crossed the room.

**_“Enough of the charade, dear sister. It’s clear that the Batman does not wish to go gentle into that good night.”_**

A pale-faced figure with messy hair and eyes like stars stood before me.

Dee sighed and threw off her blanket.

“Always with the melodrama, brother! I wanted him to have a good last few moments…make him feel important.”

“What?” I asked, looking at both of them. “Just who are you two?!”

“I am Morpheus, lord of the Dreaming,” the pale man said. “You have been conversing with my sister. Her name is Death.”

“Nice to meet you, Bruce Wayne,” Death said, looking considerably less frightened and a deal less human. “I’m sorry to have lied to you, but…I knew you wouldn’t come quietly.”

“I can’t be dead,” I growled. “I—”

“Where do you think you are right now, Bruce?” Morpheus asked. “It’s clear from the quick costume change you’re not really at home in your armchair.”

I took a look at the carpet. It shifted and moved, becoming waves under my feet. Rain broke through the roof and the books and the tea-cart and all of Wayne Manor washed away but bare timbers, which formed a pier above me.

“The itsy-bitsy Batman went up the waterspout! Down came the Joker and washed the Batman out!” crowed the Joker from above. “What a drip! He’s not even coming back for more! It’s sink or swim, batsy, and I don’t think you’re much for swimming! Should have packed the Bat-Water Wings. _Water_ way to go!”

He paused for a moment.

“I’d make more, but I’m all washed up! Now, where’d I park the car…”

“No…” I gasped, but choked on water in my lungs.

“You’re drowning,” Morpheus said, calmly. “You’re having a sweet last dream before my sister takes you.”

“But I can’t die!” I protested. “Not until I _know_ I have done all I can! Is this what I get? Is this how it ends?”

Death looked at me, genuine sadness in her eyes.

“You get what anyone gets, Bruce…a lifetime, for better or for worse.”

Morpheus unfurled his cloak, even as my vision swam with my near-comatose body.

“You have not failed to leave an impact, Dark Knight. You are part of the dreams of every child of Gotham, guilty and innocent alike. The little ones look up to you. You help them rest easy at night. Most no longer fear the thought of monsters under their beds—they know there is a Batman watching over them by night. Criminals, too, dream of you—but they are terrified. They know it is only a matter of time before the bat finds them. Hope is alive in Gotham’s dreamers, and it is because of your actions.”

“But…” I protested. “Robin…doesn’t know…”

“Do you trust Dick Grayson?” Morpheus asked. “You trained him. You cared for him. He cares for you. Do you trust him?”

“Yes…with my life…”

Morpheus laughed; a hollow, dark sound about as cold as the rain around me.

“Then you are fortunate indeed. Look above.”

The Batplane. Hovering….

Robin flying down…

Death looked at Morpheus one last time.

“You play dirty pool, brother. Delaying like that.”

“Please, sister. You didn’t want him to die either.”

When I awoke, I found myself wrapped in a blanket, coughing water out of my lungs.

“Robin…” I gasped. “You found me…”

“The Joker did a number on you that time,” Dick said, bringing over a thermos of tea. “Alfred picked you up in the car and I flew back.”

“I had the strangest dream…that Death had come to my door and tried to get me to go with her. Her brother told me something about dreams, and that’s when you arrived. You…didn’t see a pale girl with an ankh necklace nearby, did you?”

“No, but I did manage to knock the Joker out. He’s on his way to Arkham again,” Dick commented offhandedly. “He got a lucky shot, didn’t he?”

“He did. I must be getting sloppy. More training—”

“Can wait, Master Bruce. Try to shake the cold. You have a date tonight, incidentally.”

Alfred walked in carrying an envelope.

“There’s a young socialite people are just dying to meet, and she wants you to be her plus one to a Wayne Enterprises ball. I believe she said her name was Dee…she left this envelope.”

My heart skipped a beat, and slowly I opened the envelope.

A photo of a pale woman with wild black hair and an ankh necklace greeted me, along with a letter:

“While horse and hero fell.

They that had fought so well

Came through the jaws of Death,

Back from the mouth of hell.”—Tennyson

I froze. “The Charge of the Light Brigade.” So it _hadn’t_ all been in my head…

The letter had been signed with an ankh.

“Who’s that?” Dick asked.

“Someone I met once upon a dream.”


End file.
